It’s a big bookstore, the last of those places with the comfortable feeling of a place where it’s ok just to hang out. we go our separate ways once we’re inside.

I loiter around the staff picks, trying out pages at random from various books. I read Sedaris for a while, because, come on, Sedaris. about 10 pages of “it” without a death. A guy making toast and coffee in a way that’s funnier than it sounds. I rummage through the shirts trying to find one that says simply “fictional character” in my size. An obligatory pause at political commentary, A glance at random memoirs.

And then i realize it’s been a long time and i don’t know where Mo is.

But of course, i do. She’s immersed in the art section. admiring, reveling, drawing inspiration.

We drift apart again before meeting up again. She’s waving an old copy of the Great Gatsby and screaming F SCOTT FITZGERALD!!! We steal some bread samples because we’re rebels.

We walk out happy. How could you ever walk out of a bookstore unhappy?